First thing I did was go to mass on Sunday, scope out the church, see if any people stuck out. I hadn't worn my Sunday finest in around 30 years. Broke it out and tried it on. There was still a blue cornflower on the lapel. I took it off, left it in my drawer, didn't need to get too dolled up for church [Trace never discusses his past with anyone, except with perhaps his mother. Was it left over from prom? A wedding? Did he get left at the altar? Did Joan pin this on him? -Dara]. Didn't have much of a flower smell anymore, but it was still deep blue. Kinda surprised it lasted this long. My suit was kinda loose then, kinda tight now, but I could get the belt on without icepicking a new notch.
Great thing about mass, you follow everyone else. They sit, you sit. They sing, you sing. They stand, you stand. Sad that I didn't know, because I hadn't gone in so long. It's little things like that make me a bad Catholic. Well, that and the big thing, not going to church.
Later that night, after everybody left, Father Julien locked the main doors. Far as we knew, we were the only ones left inside. He handed me turkey on rye. We also had pea soup and canned peaches, leftover from lunch. I asked him if he always ate like this. He told me he was always blessed to have dinner.
Earlier, he introduced me to all the outreach group. I told him that they didn't seem like any of them needed to steal, because the way they were bragging about their house renovations and kids, they were all doing it for respect, prove they were more pious than the next.
We talked a while longer about God almighty and the afterlife and heaven and hell, the normal stuff you talk about with a priest when you got nothing else to say. He went to watch the clothes, I stayed near the food. It was a long night, and I really wanted some Irish cream for my coffee.
Come the morning, I found Father Julien asleep on the floor. When I woke him up, he did a survey. Pair of snow pants went missing.
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